Cassette 1: Tate Modern (1971)/Transcript
This is the official transcript for the episode which can also be accessed for free at'' patreon.com/withinthewires'' FIONA: Welcome to the Tate Modern, of the former United Kingdom. I am Fiona Williamson, curator of the remembrance wing of this gallery. The Remembrance Wing was created to honour those that lived and died through the Great Reckoning and the efforts made to ensure the new ‘Society’ is no longer in danger of such violence. We make an effort to host artists in this space whose work, at least in part, looks at our world-wide efforts to achieve and sustain a peaceful, and prosperous Society. This year we have decided to devote the Remembrance Wing to an artist whose work encompasses a wide range of life’s experiences, looking at the dramatic social shifts taking place around the globe, while also examining the deeply personal realities of day to day life. The Tate Modern presents a selection of the work of Claudia Atieno. As part of our ongoing efforts to promote and develop strong relationships within the artistic community, we put this exhibition together with respected artist Roimata Mangakahia, who also narrated this audioguide. Mangakahia spent time interviewing Atieno about her work in general, as well as the pieces included more specifically, and is able to provide invaluable expert opinions, as well as a glimpse behind the curtain of Atieno’s artistic sensibility. The audioguide begins on the western wall, near the entrance, and continues through the entire wing. Key works discussed on your cassette tape will be marked with numbered red cards. Each audio description will end with a tone. You may then press pause till you come across the next numbered card. Thank you for your patronage of the Tate Modern. Roimata Mangakahia’s narration will begin after you hear the tone. #TONE# ROIMATA: One - Still Life With Orchid As I’m sure is true of many of you, my first encounter with Claudia Atieno’s art was with this painting. I saw it featured in a magazine that had been discarded in a cafe, and I was immediately struck by the balance of colour and light. The brightness of the pink orchid set against the withered darkness of its dying leaves suggests a tight anger, restrained under the illusion of cheer and tranquility. This work was the first of Claudia’s to gain international attention, back in 1962, although she’d been well respected among her contemporaries for some years before. It was sold to a private collector for an undisclosed sum, but was willed to the Tate Modern and has been part of their permanent collection since 1969. I talked with Atieno about this painting only once - shortly after we met, a little over a year ago. She was, and still is, reluctant to discuss her work, but this, as her first well-known work, seemed to fill her with a particular ire. Perhaps she had simply been asked about it too often. She felt it was often misinterpreted - that the decay creeping along the underside of the oranges symbolised the unavoidable presence of death. Not an unexpected interpretation, to be fair, but not what she had seen or planned when she made the painting. Atieno was thinking about the endless cycles all living things traverse, the mobius strip of existence - the phases we see, and those we never can. To her the painting was always about what is unknowable, rather than what is unavoidable. Look closely at the oranges below the flower. What do you see? Is death present and unavoidable? Do colours dictate immutability? Follow the almost winding stem of the orchid. How many strokes are in such a thin stalk? Can wispiness be conflated with predetermination? Do you care? You might say that what Atieno sees is immaterial - once art has moved from the shadows of its creator’s studio into the bright, uncontrollable world, it belongs as much to those who see it, as it does to the person who made it. For my part, knowing the depth of Claudia’s feeling about this only made the work more incredible. My feelings about it did not make any impression on her, of course. I attempted to describe the feelings Still Life with Orchid had awoken in me, but I was nervous, struggling to form the right words to perfectly describe the awe I had for this masterpiece. I wanted Claudia Atieno to know that I adored her painting, but also that I was a professional artist, myself, and that we were peers - that we could be peers Friends even. And in trying to moderate my tone and words, I talked too long. I mistook her intense eye contact for rapt attention, but it was not. In the middle of one of my many sentences, Claudia threw a plate at the wall of the cafe we were meeting in, and would not consent to any more interviews. In helping pick up the broken plate, I saw it was hand-painted along its brim with rhinoceroses, geometrically interlocked. It broke into three large pieces, and each shard was possibly worth more than I make in a year. I offered to clean up the mess, but the owner of the cafe asked me to leave. I cannot blame Claudia for this - creation is an exhaustive process, and once completed it is difficult to return to contemplation of what has been pulled from you. I, too, am reluctant to discuss my own work. But I admit to having been affected by her displeasure. When you have admired someone from afar for so long, when you have felt that the two of you would have a certain affinity, if you ever met, it is upsetting to have your first meetings go poorly. But while Atieno’s annoyance was extreme, it turned out to be short lived. She invited me back to the cafe a few days later to finish my interview and this time I asked beforehand if there were any topics that she did not want to discuss. I was happy to avoid anything that would upset her - after all, I was simply trying to ensure I could provide a comprehensive view on an audioguide about her work. There is no need to be contentious in this kind of setting. She said “Absolutely not. I will discuss anything you like.” Her tone suggested that nothing had happened on our previous visit. She was more affectionate the next time I visited, I think, than she had been before I brought up the painting. Emotional storms pass quickly for some people, I suppose. Look at the billowing drapery behind the flower. Notice the gradient of the shadows in the folds. What do the drapes suggest to you about transience and unexpected connections? #TONE# Two - House With Yellow Door I wish I could see this house for myself. It seemed to be so important to Claudia, when we talked about this painting. But of course, the house does not exist anymore, or if it does, it has changed beyond recognition. Once the old idea of family was broken down and rebuilt as The Society, there was little need for houses like this - houses that once would have been described as a ‘family home.’ The house is, of course, the house Atieno grew up in, with her mother and her two sisters. While it is a deeply personal picture, it is also Atieno’s first commentary on the changing landscape of our world. She was born in the dying days of the Great Reckoning, before the new Society had been built, before its rules had been codified. Count the windows on the house. How many do you see? There is a correct answer. How many windows do you need on your house? Do you even own a house? How many bedrooms does this house contain? How many parents share a bed? How does the idea of a heteronormative nuclear family make you feel? Lean in closely to examine Atieno’s careful brush strokes along the grayish-brown, wooden siding. Do you feel safer having seen this? Atieno lived in this small home, with her biological parent, in a way that once was considered normal, and she never forgot what happened to her before she was ten, the way all children forget nowadays. Our current system of disentangling patriarchy, matriarchy, and tribalism from the key developmental stages in adolescence wasn’t fully in place until Claudia was thirteen, so she was given a less-intense version. She was encouraged to release herself from the ideologies and beliefs of her mother, given coursework and private tutoring on nonviolent, communal growth through one of the Society’s growing network of schools. Claudia was not made to forget, but she was certainly urged away from her familial bonds. House with Yellow Door, therefore, is a comment on what we lost in our efforts to rebuild ourselves, as well as being a simple recollection of one person’s childhood. #TONE# Three - The Charcoal Dish As I continued to meet with Atieno - initially simply to prepare for the recording you are currently listening to, she grew more open. She seemed now to welcome discussions about her work and life, which meant that we also talked a lot about the formation of our new world, during the first couple of decades of her life. As the new Society began to take its shape during Atieno’s adolescence, there were rumours of an enormous building being constructed on a human-made island, roughly the size of Malta, to house a secret government center. We know now, of course, that the rumours were untrue - there is no shadow government meeting in a vast campus somewhere in the world, but for a time it was reported as a sure thing - although no one could tell you where in the world a world something like this could even be built. A decade after the Mutual Compromise of 1938, which officially ended the Great Reckoning - and well into the existence of the Society - long after all the rumours had died down enough to be remembered with ridicule, Atieno began working on a piece that would become the painting you see here: The Charcoal Dish. It is a large work, physically - the canvas stands a full five feet high. It was a demanding task, completed over the course of months. Atieno worked on it every day, all day. It was the most intensive painting schedule she had ever kept. You can clearly see the vast, low grey building, curving slightly upwards from the ground on which it sits. It is monolithic and impenetrable, and though the trees surrounding it are taller, it seems to dominate and control them. Do you agree? Have I implied that you should agree? Do you have free will? In the foreground, slightly to the left of the great building, there are people. They are dancing and eating from a feast laid out on a great red and white cloth, spread on the ground. It may be difficult for you to see this clearly - this is one of Atieno’s most popular pieces, and if the gallery is busy you may struggle to get close to the work - but I can assure you the people are many, and they are happy, and they are free. Based on what you can see, what makes these people so happy? What makes them feel free? Behind and slightly to the right of the building, notice other figures. They are blurry and hidden. Almost in the shadow of the woods surrounding the astonishing structure. It is difficult to determine how many of them there are or even if they are fully human. Many people look at the painting and never even see them. But they are there. Look as nearly as you can without crossing the velvet rope. Really lean in there, in spite of the guard’s wary glance. You won’t hurt the art. How many people do you see? Do they look happy or free? What makes something human? Would you ever hurt an artwork? Why? The Charcoal Dish was generally well-received when it was first unveiled, with one exception. Alfra Bond, former art critic for the Western European Times (London edition), derided it as a cynical (and weak) attempt at iconoclasm. Bond was sensitive to people like Atieno, who she saw as overly critical of the Society. Bond had lost much in the Reckoning, and interpreted any attempt to undermine the Society as a call for continued warfare, whether because that person was a nihilist, a cultural preservationist, or simply someone who financially benefited from war somehow. Bond believed all artists benefited from war and strife, as it gave them a more interesting story to tell. “Why can’t a bowl of fruit just be a well-painted bowl of fruit,” Bond wrote in an infamous review of artist Vanessa Nguyen’s 1963 exhibit “Still - Slash - Life” at the Manchester Museum. Of course the idea of a person desiring strife and struggle for themselves or other people simply so they might have more interesting subjects for their work is abhorrent and simplistic. Life is complex at any time, it does not need the embroidery of mass destruction. Is an impressively large building a political statement? Look at the possible non-humans in the shadows of the trees in the painting. Can a bowl of fruit be a call for war? It’s important not to assume from Bond’s interpretation that The Charcoal Dish is a political painting, and if it is, that it is a critical one. It can as easily be interpreted as a simple look at humanity - while some aspects of who we are dance in the light, we have secrets hidden, barely perceived, but not far removed from the surface. #TONE# Four - Woman in Bath This exhibition includes the unveiling of Atieno’s newest work, Woman in Bath (1971). It is an awkward work for me to talk about, although it may not seem that significant to the naked eye. It is simple, really, as you can see. The arm, trailing to the floor, a pool of water forming below her knuckles along the tile. The dark hair, coiled on the woman’s head. She is looking away from us, we can’t see her face. Look at the side of the woman’s head. Can you make out any features: a jawline, cheekbones, lips, brow? Is the woman beautiful, do you think? I had expected to meet with Claudia two or three times, over coffee, perhaps, or over wine. A few hours, on a few separate occasions, a handful of questions asked and answered. That was all that was supposed to happen. After our first meeting, which ended poorly, we met again at the cafe called Joyeuse, near her home in Cornwall. We talked for awhile - Claudia was expansive and communicative, eager to make herself understood and also, somehow, to understand me. The cafe closed for the day at 4pm, and she invited me to continue our interview in her home, to stay for dinner and if I need to, to stay until the next morning. I was unaware, when I agreed, that she does not live in the small village where we had met. Her home is a large, battered house that stands alone on a small island, a way out to sea. She had a small motor boat tied to a small jetty - safe enough when you can see well, but ill-advised after dark. I had ended up, strangely, unexpectedly, staying. I ended up staying for a while. Secluded though her home is, there is often a lot of activity there. People come and go - artists, writers, those who like being around artists and writers. It is a place I imagine, where it is difficult to ever be uncomfortable, as everyone there is so at ease with themselves, and with everyone else. The house is large and has been much neglected, but Claudia and her friends have successfully patched it up over the months they’ve been there. The one thing they did not have skill enough among them to handle was the bath, which was a rusted, leaky hulk. In its place, they dragged over a freestanding bath from the mainland. It’s possible the intention was to place it upstairs in the bathroom, but energies deplete quickly sometimes, and the bath only made it as far as the main sitting room, where it sits in a corner, mostly covered by a screen. I did not know at first that Claudia had started to sketch me as I bathed the first night I was there. Artists do not, as a rule, enjoy being the subject of the scrutiny that deal out to other people, but Claudia is persuasive, so once I discovered she was marking me out to paint me in oils, I could hardly refuse to let her. And so here it is. Look at the painting. Make your own judgements. I cannot say anything else. #TONE# Five - Self Portrait with Cat I did not have the opportunity to talk to Atieno much about this work, I could not stay in Cornwall for long and she seemed reluctant to talk about it. She could not even answer simple questions about it - when I asked her about the cat in the picture, she said simply that she had never had a cat. I told her I thought she would like one - cats are independent and require little emotional labour, which would suit her, I think. It is presumptuous maybe to claim that you know what a person would like after so short an acquaintance, but sometimes that is just how you feel. I had hoped there would be a kinship between the two of us, or something more. For the years I have followed Claudia’s career, I hoped we could meet, connect, share our works and our lives. I think - I have a feeling - that maybe that hope has been met. Will be met. There is a spot on that island I found enticing while I was there. A low cliff, on the south side of the island, that looks out into the ocean - that looks out into forever. When the tide is high, it is a perfect spot for diving - you could throw yourself off and pretend you were falling into a world with no other people. And then easily swim to a the bay around the corner. When the tide is out, there would be no hope of diving - the shallow water gives way too quickly to rocks - but that is when the view becomes interesting. A sandbar appears to the west, rocky and gleaming. The blue water gives back to cold slate, like a slick of oil smeared over paradise. I would like to paint there, I think. Perhaps I will go back - for longer this time. Perhaps I will paint there. Perhaps I will take a cat. I feel like Claudia would like having a cat. I feel like I could belong there. Category:Transcripts